


4 AM Ghost

by PeacefulPhoenix



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, But my beta reader said it made her feel nice, Cutting, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FAHC, Fake AH Crew, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Nonverbal Michael, Okay honestly this sounds really sad and it kinda is, Self-Harm, Trust and Communication, and also cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:19:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8397829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeacefulPhoenix/pseuds/PeacefulPhoenix
Summary: Nothing especially bad had happened that day to leave Michael Jones feeling so trapped. In fact, it’d been a pretty successful day. He and Gavin had gone on a bit of a cheeky crime spree in the morning and then most of the crew had gone out for some evening bevs. No one had been arrested or shot at or hurt in any real way. But then they'd gone to sleep. Now he was alone again and he felt empty. Not sad, not angry, not especially scared. Just empty.





	

A steady whir filled the penthouse, coming from the xbox chugging away on the tv console. There must have been a lot of dust because the thing seemed louder than normal. Or maybe it was just the fact that it was 4am and the rest of the house was silent. Even the game playing on the screen had been muted, subtitles filling in the story that was being missed. The lights were mostly turned off so the only light to see by was the bright blue glow of the tv screen, making the whole room feel rather surreal at this time of night. 

Michael sat on the couch, blanket wrapped around his shoulders and controller in hand. Glasses hung off the tip of his nose as he mostly looked over them at the screen. He was close enough to see anyways and what he was doing wasn’t difficult. Meaningless quest farming. He had to build XP to get an achievement. Then the game would be 100%ed and he could put it away and start on the next one.

Because he totally didn’t have any other reason to be up so late. He definitely wasn’t struggling to stay awake, afraid of what might happen if he allowed himself to dream.

For those few minutes in between turning off the game and sleeping, he would be alone. Not that he wasn’t now. But with the game running, it didn’t feel like he was. He had something to do, something to occupy his mind, NPCs to talk to. 

Nothing especially bad had happened that day to leave him feeling so trapped. In fact, it’d been a pretty successful day. He and Gavin had gone on a bit of a cheeky crime spree in the morning and then most of the crew had gone out for some evening bevs. No one had been arrested or shot at or hurt in any real way. Gavin had tripped and hit his head at the bar but that hardly counted. For the entire day he’d been surrounded by people who liked him and cared for him. But now he wasn’t.

Now he was alone again and he felt empty. Not sad, not angry, not especially scared. Just empty. 

These kinds of drops weren’t uncommon for him. As long as he kept busy, he kept sane. And repetitive tasks like this were the best for that kind of thing. There was something calming about it. Any negative thought that tried to fill the void in him found itself locked out. 

There had been nights where that wasn’t possible though. In the early days of the crew he hadn’t understood what was happening. Some nights it would be panic attacks, not that he’d had the word for it then. Other nights he’d gone totally non verbal or isolated himself and spent the rest of the night in silence. Hell, one night he’d even left. Didn’t tell anyone where he was going. He was gone for two days before finally returning. The crew hadn’t taken very kindly to that. 

It had taken him a long time to come up with coping mechanism and even longer to trust them. He’d been waiting for them to fail, for something to break. Even now he could still feel that panic laying in wait. He would still feel his mouth dry and his tongue heavy with words he couldn’t quite bring himself to say. It hadn’t been perfect but it helped. 

He kinda figured it’d be easier if he could just cry. Then maybe it would feel less like emotion was about to crash over him and drown him. Maybe if he could just get it out his hands wouldn’t shake and his chest wouldn’t be so tight.

It’s not like the others didn’t cry. Geoff cried all the damn time. Jack too. Hell, he’d even seen Ryan cry once! So why the fuck couldn’t he? Why did he constantly live on the edge? Why did relief seem just out of reach?

His character had been standing still so long the camera had stopped spinning in circles and the game had paused. Michael only noticed when his grip tightened and the control slipped from his hands, aided by his sweaty palms. The loud clack of plastic falling on the wood of the coffee table and then the floor seemed to echo through the penthouse.

He sighed and turned off the game. So it was one of those nights. Great. It was rare that his coping techniques didn’t work, but it happened. The thoughts crept in by pretending to be something else, something harmless. One hand reached up to grip at the blanket on his shoulders while the other’s thumb ran over its fingers. 

Playing the game would be a lost cause now. He knew that. But still he buzzed with this energy that rocked him to the core and had him shaking hard enough to leave him feeling sick. There had to be something else he could do. Anything. 

But he couldn’t think. A ringing filled his head, reminding him faintly of what happened when he stood too close to an explosion. It filled every thought, drowned it out. That wave of emotions seemed so close to breaking now. Just in the edge of his consciousness. And he wanted it so bad. If it could just break maybe he wouldn’t feel so much like a bow drawn back until the string was taut. 

But it didn’t. He knew that it wouldn’t without help. Unless something changed, he wouldn’t get his relief. There was only one quick way he knew.

The world reeled as he stood and for a brief moment, Michael thought he might pass out. As he regained his balance, he moved towards the bathroom, blanket still pulled tight around him. Each step seemed weighed down so it was a slow trip. One step at a time. Left then right then left. 

It wasn’t until his hand was on the knob and he tried to turn the it that he realized the door was both closed and locked. A dim yellow light spilled from the cracks around the wood and there was the muffled sound of running water. Someone else was awake. Someone else was where he needed to be right now. This could make hogging the bathroom for an extended amount of time while he did what he needed to difficult.

This wasn’t how his plan was supposed to go. This was unplanned, unforeseen. And so he stood there, hand out-stretched, motionless. Seconds later, the door swung in and his hand fell to his side. “Oh, hey Michael. What are you still doing up?” It took him a second to process who was standing in the doorway now; who was speaking. Ryan. He sounded bright and cheery. Had he slept. No, he couldn’t have. Then how did he sound so awake?

“Could ask you the same question,” he mumbled in response. Slowly, his eyes drug up from the floor to meet Ryan’s gaze. He wasn’t wearing his paint. Michael looked away immediately. He couldn’t look. He wouldn’t betray Ryan like that. 

Ryan rumbled out a low, rich chuckle. “That’s fair, I suppose.” The laughter died away and when he spoke again there was a hint of concern in his voice and reaching out a hand to lay heavily on Michael’s shoulder. “You okay, buddy? Look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

It wasn’t until he mentioned it that Michael realized just how light-headed he was. It felt like a drill was driving into the side of his skull and the light from the bathroom seemed way too bright. Everything else was getting washed out and the world felt like it was swimming. He reached out to grab a hold of some wall, a piece of furniture, anything. He found Ryan’s arm instead, extended out to him.

There were a few minutes of silence before Michael was able to put a sentence together. “I’m fine,” he promised, crooked grin not at all reaching his eyes. Then again, he didn’t expect it to be convincing. 

“Yeah, no you’re not. We’re getting you some food and water then getting you to bed.” Before he had a chance to explain, Ryan began to basically drag him away from the bathroom and towards his room. 

Michael’s eyes flew open and he thrashed around wildly as he was pulled away. No no no no no! Ryan was fucking everything up! He needed to get back in the bathroom. Stubby fingernails, bit down way too far, tried in vain to dig into the flesh of Ryan’s arm. If he noticed, he didn’t show it. “Let me go!” Michael finally growled. It was enough to get Ryan to stop and Michael stumbled, unceremoniously landing on one knee and a hand before standing and righting himself. “I can feed and walk myself.”

It took a large sigh first, but Ryan nodded. “I’m aware.” He made no attempt to take control back and instead turned to face him. Suddenly, Michael felt really very small. “I’m sure that you could take care of yourself just fine. But I also know you well enough to confidently say that you won’t.”

Despite Michael’s thrashing, Ryan carried on as if nothing were happening. He didn’t stop until they were in Michael’s room and the man had been tossed onto his bed. “You better be there when I come back,” he warned, point a finger at Michael and trying to catch his eyes. No dice. But he made no move to leave so Ryan turned and walked right back out the door, letting the door fall shut behind him. 

It was amazing how quickly all the energy drained from Michael body as soon as he hit the bed. He couldn’t imagine moving or carrying out his plan now. The dark waves that had been tearing at his mind began to fade away and left him feeling empty. The overwhelming humming silence and utter darkness of the room just made him feel ever more distant and detached. He didn’t move an inch until Ryan came back.

In fact, he didn’t even notice Ryan come back until there was a bowl of trail mix in front of him. The kind with M&Ms, raisins, walnuts, almonds, and peanuts. “I’m closing the door. Is that okay with you?” There wasn’t really much point trying to leave again now that he was here so Michael nodded and the door closed with a quiet snap. Ryan walked over and crouched beside the bed, gently grabbing a hold of the sheets to balance himself. “Can you talk?” Ryan asked gently. 

There were several long seconds of silence as Michael stared at the ceiling. A couple times he opened his mouth and said nothing. He wanted to talk but it was like he’d forgotten how, like there was a curtain hanging between his mind and his lips. If he thought too hard he couldn’t do it. “Sorta,” he finally croaked.

With nothing more than a nod, Ryan stood again, walking to the desk shoved into the corner. It was absolutely covered but organized immaculately. Chewed up pens stood in a cup next to pieces of unfinished bombs. A stack of video game boxes was topped with a controller and next to a half-finished can of Red Bull was a notepad. He plucked the paper and a pen up before returning to Michael again, this time sitting beside him cross-legged.

“Don’t want you straining so we can talk using this. You write, I’ll speak. Sound good?” It was as good as plan as any, Michael supposed. And it would be nice to not have the pressure to speak. He nodded and Ryan smiled. “Awesome. Have you slept yet?” 

Michael tossed a handful of trail mix into his mouth and got to writing. “Nah, Have you?” the paper read when he held it up. He let it drop again pretty quickly, doodling spirals in the corner as he waited for an answer.

“Yeah. Just woke up about a half-hour ago.” Everyone knew Ryan seemed to always be awake but they’d just assumed that it was from lack of sleep. Apparently he just didn’t sleep much. That wasn’t surprising. 

Michael kept his eyes trained on the spirals of ink curling across the edges of the paper. “You can look you know,” Ryan mumbled, putting the tips of his fingers on the pad of paper so Michael could clearly see them. “I don’t mind.” 

It still didn’t seem right though. Like it was breaking some kind of unspoken code. Ryan was saying he could so why did he feel like he couldn’t? Why did his hands still shake and his core feel tight. The words came out wobbly as he wrote, “Can’t.” He didn’t bother holding it up this time. Ryan could see from where he was anyways.

Then there were fingers closing around Michael’s jaw and pulling his face up and towards Ryan. “I want you to,” he said this time, waiting with his hand still in place until Michael finally opened his eyes. “See, not so bad, huh?” And it wasn’t.

Perhaps the first thing that Michael noticed was just how soft Ryan’s face looked. His eyes were kind and a gentle blue without the dark makeup surrounding them. It was almost impossible to believe that the same blue could look so deadly with paint surrounding them. And his hair. Black as all hell and usually pulled into a ponytail, instead fell in waves ending just past his shoulder. And with golden brown roots he’d never noticed before. Now that he noticed it, his eyebrows and beard were the same brown. It’d never really been a conscious thought but he’d always assumed the black was natural. How had he never seen before? Had this really been what he’d looked like all the time? He just looked like… a normal guy.

And something about that was weirdly calming. It wasn’t the fearsome vagabond forcibly keeping him in his room and bringing him snacks from who knows where because Geoff sure as hell didn’t keep trail mix in the penthouse. It was just some guy. Ryan Haywood.

“Not so bad,” Michael agreed, writing the note down without looking and holding it up. 

Ryan hummed out his laugh and released Michael’s chin. “Told you. Now do you care to tell me why you’ve yet to sleep?” And there was a hint of something Michael hadn’t heard from him before, as far as he could recall. Something affectionate and disapproving and caring. 

But no matter how friendly the question sounded, it didn’t stop his heart from thumping angrily against his chest. His eyes fixed on the paper in his lap and the pen tapped against his thigh as it bounced between shaky fingers. Words sounded hard to put together. Thoughts were too abstract for words. Or maybe it was just the overwhelming alarms going off in his mind screaming at him to say nothing, to let his non-verbal tendencies extend to his pen. 

It was almost impossible to fight through them but this was Ryan. Ryan the guy who kept succulents and named them. Ryan the guy who baked heart shaped cookies once while wearing a skull mask and pink frilly apron. Ryan the guy who’d once killed a man for insulting a friend. Ryan was safe.

“Scared,” Michael wrote, the words wobbly from trembling hands. “Too much,” he added after a moment.

Ryan’s lips pressed into a thin line as he read the words. A voice in the back of Michael’s head whispered that he looked angry. But no, it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be that. “So you feel overwhelmed and that has you scared? Is that what you’re saying?” Michael slowly shook his head no, adding a shaking hand. So half right maybe. “Okay how about this. Are you overwhelmed.” A nod. “But that’s not what has you scared.” Another nod. “So then why are you scared?” It was clear Ryan wasn’t putting the two together. Couldn’t see the clear red line connecting the two in Michael’s mind.

So Michael would just have to spell it out for him. As neatly as he could, he wrote out in all capital letters, “Myself.” His face was nearly expressionless as he held up the notepad to Ryan. Yet there was an air of hopelessness and overwhelming exhaustion to him.

And it broke Ryan’s damn heart. His head shook slowly side to side and his lips parted to say something. Michael started moving before he had the chance, shrugging off his brown jacket, leaving him in just a t-shirt. He held out both arms towards Ryan without giving himself a chance to reconsider. 

Crisscrossing his skin were dozens of lines, some scabbed and still bright red, others pure white and obviously months or even years old. They varied in length, orientation, and width. Sure, he’d seen Michael all cut up before but it was usually after a heist. Hard to know for sure. He and Jack’d had their suspicions but he hadn’t known until now. 

“Michael,” Ryan whispered, hand reaching out almost on instinct to brush across the skin. Michael jerked his arms away before he got the chance. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to.” Ryan’s eyes fell to the sheets where Michael’s arms had been. “That’s why you were looking spooked outside the bathroom, huh.” It must have been a rhetorical question because he didn’t look up to see any kind of response. 

Still, Michael shrugged. Perhaps more for himself than Ryan. He still needed this to feel like it was nothing. It wasn’t a big deal, really. Of all the things they dealt with… The mixed expressions of horror and pain on Ryan’s face were just an overreaction. Hell, one time Gavin had gotten an infection so bad he’d almost lost his hand. A few little chicken scratches were nothing in comparison. He’d only pulled his arms back because he didn’t want a fuss being made. Right?

But he did. He did want someone to make a big fuss and yell at him and keep him out of danger and let him take a back seat to life for once and clean up every time he hurt himself. It was so fucking exhausting and he had to do it all on his own. Sure, sometimes the crew would try to take care of each other but most of them were shit cooks and the penthouse was always messy as fuck which left Michael doing everything and sometimes it was like a switch flipped and they all just forgot the others existed.

And there came that dark tide of emotions threatening to break again, crashing against his chest in time with his heart beat. “Ryan,” he croaked out, the name feeling heavy and foreign on his tongue. It felt wrong to speak at all but, fuck, he had no choice. Without much of an idea what to ask for or follow up with, Michael just held out his arms. 

Ryan got the idea, scooching closer and pulling him into his chest for a hug. “I’ve got you, buddy,” he murmured, worming the fingers of one hand into Michael’s curls to massage his head gently while the other rubbed circles into his back. “You’re safe,” he followed up. 

When Michael really thought about it, it was such a stupid thing to say. Of course he was safe here. No one would fuck with the Fake AH Crew penthouse. But it felt good to hear anyways. And it felt good to know that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to deal with this all alone. Maybe he would have someone to make a fuss. 

“Stay?” Michael mumbled into Ryan’s shirt. Even he wasn’t sure if it was meant as a question or a statement.

Either way, Ryan seemed to get the idea and hummed his agreement. “Anything you need before sleep?” Michael shook his head so Ryan just shrugged off his jacket and pulled them both down to lie on the bed. “Just punch my arm or something if you change your mind about having me here.” 

Michael wiggled his way into a more comfortable position without really responding, not that Ryan minded much. It was an easy silence that did wonders to calm both of their minds. Absentmindedly, his thumb brushed against Michael’s upper arm. He’d slept too recently to fall asleep but he let his mind wander and at some point, the man next to him had fallen asleep. 

Taking the opportunity, Ryan pressed a kiss to his forehead. It was more for his own comfort than Michael’s. He just couldn’t stand to see him hurt and he needed to protect him somehow. This was the closest he could get for now and that was okay. It was good. Better than knowing he was on his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this story! Kudos and comments keep me going so if you enjoyed please consider leaving one or both and check me out on tumblr at achievements-huntress!


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